5 Times Tseng Did Interesting Negotiations
by Karanguni
Summary: 5 times on a no-kill job. Hinted Tseng/Rufus, Tseng/Veld.


_One_

Looking back, Veld had found it as important to teach Tseng how to speak as it was to teach him how to kill. Tseng's face grew angular the older he became; his eyes, his jaw, his tone all sharp. One of the first things that the old Director had him do on his own was not to chase down wanted men or disarm explosives: Veld gave him an address and instructions to dress well, and when Tseng rang on the doorbell of the townhouse in Sector 2, it was a grown woman who answered it.

'You must be Veld's new one,' she smiled, looking him up and down in a way that Tseng found unsettling. 'Come in, come in.'

Her house was as old as her money; from the moment Tseng stepped in it was dark wood and antique furniture and the smell of preserved lace. The woman wasn't unlike her home: thin, well-aged, affluent and more like than not to devour him whole if he were not paying attention.

'I suppose you're here about the shipments that haven't come through?' she asked him while pouring out a finger of brandy for them both. She gave him the glass.

Tseng, instinctively, did not drink. 'It has been a month, Mrs. Rilkes, speaking respectfully.'

Mrs. Rilkes, a widow three times over, laughed. It was a pretty laugh, nauseatingly saccharine and false as any lie Tseng had ever heard. 'Veld's an impatient, unbending men, isn't he? I've tried to get him to loosen up, but -' Reaching over the small coffee table, she patted Tseng's hand. She was so close that he could smell her perfume. 'You must know, mustn't you? It doesn't make working for him very encouraging at all.'

Tseng wondered if Veld was laughing at him, wherever Veld was.

'If you are looking for company, Mrs. Rilkes,' he said, standing. 'I had best inform you now that Turks are not whores.'

_Two_

'That's what we are, aren't we?' Reno drawled as Tseng got into the elevator. 'The lights and magic of Shinra.'

Tseng pulled on his gloves and shrugged. The redhead next to him grinned, and tossed two small balls of materia up and down, up and down. 'Mastered them just last week,' Reno said, putting them in the other Turk's hands. 'Don't lose 'em.'

Tseng slipped them into a case, and slipped the case into his blazer. He got off when the elevator hit the lobby.

'Why do you always get the fun cases?' Reno asked, but Tseng didn't stay around long enough to respond. Darkness had hit Midgar, and the city's best were just starting to crawl out of the cracks and into the neon light of night; Shinra was hosting and dining tonight, and all of their hangers-on were eager to suckle.

Tseng arrived at the restaurant a purposeful ten minutes late, and slipped into the empty seat next to the Don as though he'd arrived on time. He left his gloves on when he picked up his knife and fork and cut into the first course. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Rufus read out the quarterly earnings of the Company. The Don stiffened, but did not (could not) run.

'I'd like to speak with you, later,' Tseng said, companionably. Servers arrived to take their dishes away. Tseng had cleared his plate neatly; the man beside him had barely eaten.

The Don took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped at his brow. 'Perhaps I don't want to talk,' he tried.

Tseng took a sip of his wine, then put down the glass. Reaching into his blazer, he took out the small case and laid it on the table. 'Really?' he asked, drumming his fingers over the transparent cover.

The Don could see the faint, yellow glow of the materia from where he sat. 'I hope you know you're treading on dangerous ground, Turk,' he snarled, quietly.

Tseng flicked open the case. 'Perhaps,' he suggested, reaching for the Manipulate, 'I don't care, Mr. Corneo.'

_Three_

When Aerith had been young, the negotiations Tseng found himself in involved flowers and housewarming gifts for her mother, and - on the occasions where Aerith felt playful - games of truth or dare, during which he always lied.

_Four_

'Rufus,' Tseng said, pulling on a shirt and looking for his tie. It'd been years since he last saw the blond. Now the boy was a man; had become the President, even. After half a decade of war mongering and blackmail, Tseng wondered if he was the only one who found Rufus' convenient inheritance ironic.

That longed-for power sat well with Rufus. He abused it as the Turk always knew he would.

Tseng had a feeling that Midgar would burn, if they weren't careful. It burned even now, the green glow of Mako running through the veins of the reactors which sprawled out all around them. The darkened glass windows couldn't shield the room from all the light. Tseng looked out West, and waited.

From the bed, Rufus eventually said, 'Yes?'

'"Rule by fear"?' Tseng quoted in askance.

Sheets shifted, feet hit the floor. Rufus came up behind Tseng, now grown just as tall and just as dangerous. 'It's not a bad turn of phrase, is it?'

'It's hardly delicate,' Tseng replied.

'Who are you to say?' Rufus chuckled. 'I said _fear_, not blood and war. Midgar's not a pleasant place. I've learnt about managing it from some of the best in that _department_,' the President said, touching the unfinished knot of Tseng's tie. Tseng would have flinched, if the situation had permitted it. 'And I've had a good teacher.'

_Five_

Rufus fell from his wheelchair the third month and second week after the first of the black marks appeared, oily and dirty, under his skin. Wordlessly, Tseng slipped one of Shinra's arms over his shoulders, and hoisted the broken man back up. He settled the white clothes, the dark pants, but he couldn't settle the man himself.

'Technically,' Rufus said, that same arrogance turned now into a desperate nonchalance, 'you're one of the most powerful men on the Planet, now.'

'And what power do I have, Rufus?' Tseng asked. 'Power over fallen cities and scattered empires?'

'There's more than a little money left over in my accounts,' Rufus said, quietly. 'All of what remains of Shinra's infrastructure. Old contacts. Older fallbacks. They call,' the President said, 'Cloud Strife a war hero for bringing Shinra to its knees. And since I'm already kneeling -'

'I may as well take your head?' Tseng laughed, a sharp sound. He moved to stand behind Rufus, and touched the handles of the wheelchair. Rufus flinched. 'Your attempts at buying my loyalty have never been subtle,' Tseng said. 'Your attempts at absolving yourself are even cruder.'

After a moment, Rufus asked, 'Is that a no?' Tseng thought he heard a smile in the younger man's voice, the first he'd heard in a while. Rufus never changed, in some ways.

'Killing you would be a mercy you don't deserve,' Tseng said, his voice flat in the quiet of the Healin Lodge. 'If you are intent on pursuing this moral redemption of yours, then I think you owe the Planet more than just an easy death.'

Now Rufus was uncomfortable. 'I wasn't talking about what I owe the public.'

'No,' Tseng agreed as he wheeled Rufus towards the physiotherapy room. 'But I don't care to talk about what you owe me.' 


End file.
